Miracles
by NekoBakaChann
Summary: This is my first Johnlock fanfic I've ever written. I hope you like it! I'm sorry it's really short and this is the only chapter, so have some feels! : Happy reading!


**A/N: This is the very first JohnLock I've ever written! ~Happy reading!**

It had been a year and a half since the incident. Everyone gave the incident the code name "The Fall" to try to protect John, but it really didn't help because he knew what their "code" was and, to be honest, it just brought him more pain each time he heard it. He has given up on sleeping; he gave up on that months ago. Every time he'd close his eyes he saw the face of his old flat mate, but it was always his face after the incident, after he fell. He'd also given up on the thought of his flat mate's name. It was just too painful to think about, let alone say out loud.

Tonight, John is sitting alone in his empty flat, staring at a wall, the wall with the yellow smile painted on it. He's trying to conjure up a memory, any memory of his old friend before the fall. A happy memory might do him some good, but those memories are long gone and in their place are terror, bitterness, and pain. Such things do not belong in John's heart but, without his flat mate there to cheer him up, those three unwelcome guests stay gnawing on his last bits of sanity. It's well past midnight, but as I said before, John has given up on sleep.

"What are you so happy about?" he asks the face on the wall. "There's nothing in this entire screwed up world to be happy about anymore," he looks down and cradles his head in his hands. "Sherlock couldn't even pull through with one last miracle for me," he whimpers as tears begin to fall from his eyes.

This is the first time he has said Sherlock's name since the funeral and just the sound of his old friend's name after all this time makes him feel as if the already broken pieces of his heart are being shattered even further, if that's possible. He really needs to stop torturing himself like this. He should have gotten a new flat. If he keeps this torture up, there won't be anything left of his heart. Terror, bitterness, and pain will permanently reside in the empty hole that was once his heart. He knows all of this, but he cannot bring himself to leave his flat. It was their home and he can't see himself living anywhere else.

Outside, it's raining, pouring even, which in an odd way comforts John. The rain seems to keep the terror, bitterness, and pain at bay which, in return, keeps John from going over the edge. Over the edge, just like Sherlock, falling to ultimately be with Sherlock. This thought has crossed his mind many times, but each time he can't bring himself to do it. He glances at the pistol he keeps on a side table close to his chair.

"John," a familiar voice calls.

John looks up and sees nothing but shadows. He has forgotten he was crying, but tears continue to fall.

"John," the voice calls again.

John stands up and looks around the room from on stationary spot close to the side table. "Who's there?"

"It's me, John," the voice says as a tall figure emerges from the shadows in the room.

"Sherlock," John says, amazed, but then quickly snaps out of it, "No, you died. You jumped off that building. I went to your funeral!"

A flash of lightning illuminates Sherlock's face to reveal a look of despair, "John…I-, "he starts and took a step closer to him.

"No, stay back! You are not Sherlock! Sherlock died! I saw him fall!" John says, completely delirious now, as he grabs his gun and points it at the other man.

Sherlock takes another step closer knowing that John won't shoot at him even if he were just a hallucination. "John, it's really me. I'm really here," Sherlock continues to walk closer to his hysterical flat mate and, when close enough, removes the gun from John's trembling hands.

John nervously smiles. "This is an illusion, isn't it? My mind's just playing cruel tricks on me, right?" He looks at the floor and shuts his eyes. "I'm going crazy, that has to be it. I'm going insa-,"

"John," Sherlock interrupts. "I am really here," He says putting emphasis on each word and clasps his hands on john's shoulders.

John looks up at him, more tears falling from his eyes. Sherlock wipes them away. Another flash of lightning illuminates the room and John notices a single tear fall from Sherlock's eyes. A tear he would have missed if not for the ongoing storm outside.

"Where did you go? How are you alive? Why-," John was cut off by Sherlock wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug.

"I know I've been gone a long time and I know you have a lot of questions and I know I've put you through a lot of pain, but none of that matters right now because I'm never leaving you like that again."

John hugs him back, the tears have finally stopped, and says, "I missed you."

"I know," Sherlock replies and kisses the top of John's head.

In that moment, that one, warm moment, Sherlock was able to piece together the remains of John's heart and drive away all the feelings of terror, bitterness, and pain that were just getting comfortable there. In that moment, John realized that Sherlock truly is a miracle worker, but we know that already. Don't we?


End file.
